


Make You Mine

by rizlowwritessortof



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Jealous Dean, Possessive Dean, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-25
Updated: 2017-02-25
Packaged: 2018-09-26 21:26:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9922763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rizlowwritessortof/pseuds/rizlowwritessortof
Summary: Dean's jealousy gets the best of him, which is not a bad thing...For my little Instigator <3





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Salvachester](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salvachester/gifts).



You climb out of the back seat, tugging your skirt down self-consciously. Dean is staring at your legs, his jaw clenched, and even Sam swallows hard, then turns away.

“Does it look that bad?” you ask, worried for a moment that maybe you’re not dressed appropriately to be an FBI agent.

Sam clears his throat, and Dean growls out, “You look fine.”

You straighten your jacket, lift your chin, and get into the head space you need, a little condescending, a little no-nonsense, like you’re used to getting what you ask for. Dean gives you one more glance and, looking like he’d like to eat someone, leads the way into the police station.

You and Sam trail Dean to the front desk, standing a step behind and flashing your badges dutifully when the officer on duty asks if he can help you. “What can we do for the FBI?” he asks, just a touch of snark behind his words, and you can almost feel Dean’s thunderous frown. He’s been on edge for days, and this day seems to be a bad one. His temper has been unpredictable, his level of patience almost zero, and you cringe a little internally at what his reaction might be.

“Is your superior officer around? Maybe the big boys should talk,” he snaps, and the officer behind the desk stands up, all six feet and at least four inches of him, maybe even a little taller than Sam.

“Listen, Agent Hetfield. We don’t take kindly to feds coming in and throwing their weight around. If we can help, fine. But don’t go making demands like we owe you. We work for a living around here, too.”

You can almost feel Dean’s chest swelling, his temper ready to blow, and you step forward, one hand on his arm as you push your way in front of him. “Sorry, Officer – Thomas, is it? Please forgive my partner, this case has him a little wired.” You turn to look up at Dean, your lips tight as you speak to him in a pleasant voice, aware that he will hear the anger beneath. “Agent Hetfield, Agent Hammett, why don’t you go get that coffee we were talking about? I’ll get what we need here and meet you outside.” You narrow your eyes at him, the threat behind them clear.

“Yeah. Why don’t we just do that,” he grinds out, giving a curt nod to the officer and turning on his heel to stalk to the door, flinging it open without a pause. Sam smiles politely, then turns to follow him.

“I’m so sorry, Officer Thomas. He really has been under a lot of strain. We’ve been following leads on this case for some time now, and it does tend to wear you down.”

His eyes soften a little as he nods. “Yeah, understandable. I appreciate your – uh – diplomacy. Sometimes situations like this get a little alpha-male, you know?”

You smile sweetly. “Well, Officer, what I really need is to see the files on the so-called ‘Slasher’ murders. Just to compare notes. You’ve probably got some of the finer points that we’ve missed, being local and all.”

“Of course. Follow me, I’ll get you set up.”

It’s an hour or so later, and you tuck your pen into your folder, closing it on the pages of notes you’ve scribbled down. Officer Thomas escorts you out, his hand on the small of your back, and you laugh at something he says. He believes he’s witty, and you play your part well, making him believe that you think so, too. He shakes your hand, rubbing his thumb over the smooth skin, holding on a little too long, but you let it go. Then he asks you out for drinks later, and you smile again, apologizing that you’d love to, but no. Work comes first. When he finally lets you leave, slipping his card into your hand ‘just in case,’ you thank him, then turn and walk towards the car where Dean waits. His posture is stiff, his hands clenched on the wheel, and you meet his eyes. They are smoldering, his lips pressed tightly together, his jaw working. You can almost feel the fury coming off of him in waves, but you refuse to drop your eyes.

“Where’s Sam?” you ask as you slip into the front seat, gracefully pulling your legs into the car. He lets his eyes travel from mid-thigh down as you slip out of your heels.

“Library.”

“Good. Now would you like to tell me what the hell is wrong with you?”

“I’m fucking fine.”

“Right. You’ve been glaring at me all morning, and you almost blew it with the locals. Seriously, Dean, what’s your problem?”

“I don’t have to deal with the 'locals,'” he fires back, “because you just hitch up your skirt a little more and flash some cleavage, and they bend over backwards for you.”

“Excuse me?” You are speechless for a few seconds, your hands clenched so hard your nails are digging into your palms. “Was that some kind of accusation?”

“If the push-up bra fits.” He throws the car in gear and the tires squeal just the tiniest bit as he leaves the curb.

You are so pissed off that you can’t even form a coherent string of swear words. “Excuse me, Agent ‘Yeah, this job is dangerous and lonely and some nights you just want another human being to share your thoughts with.’” You glare at him, laser eyes, and he throws a sneering expression your way.

“God, are you ever gonna let that go? I used that line one time!”

“That we overheard, yeah!”

“At least I don’t go around with my assets hanging out all over the place!”

“Fuck you in your fucking face hole, Dean Winchester!” You can feel your face glowing with heat, and you’re so pissed that you sound ridiculous, but you are beyond caring. “Stop the car, I’m getting out.”

“No. You’re not.” He speeds up, and you reach for the door handle, but he grabs you by the arm and yanks you towards him. You struggle, trying to pull yourself from his grasp, but his fingers are digging in, unrelenting, and you know there will be bruises in their wake. “Stop fighting me, Y/N.”

“Fine! I’m packing my stuff and I’m outta here!” You sit still, refusing to look at him, your chest heaving and your hands shaking as he whips into the motel parking lot and screeches to a halt in front of your door.

The second his fingers loosen their grip, you pull away and are out the door, barefoot through the gravel, digging in your bag for your room key. You can barely make it work, you’re shaking so badly, but you finally manage to yank the door open. You turn to slam it shut, but it shudders as Dean stops it with one hand and shoulders his way in, banging it closed behind him.

“Get the fuck out.” Your teeth are clenched as you speak, and you reach for the door handle to open it again.

“I don’t think so,” he growls, and then he slams you against the door, one hard-muscled arm braced across your chest, the other hand buried in your hair as his lips capture yours in an almost brutal kiss.

The air is practically crackling around the two of you, and you’re too shocked to even struggle. When he raises his head, both of you panting for air, you stare into his eyes, bewildered and still furious. “What the hell, Dean?”

“I can’t do this anymore, Y/N. You’re driving me fucking crazy.” He kisses you again, and your brain just blanks, reverting to primal instinct, desire flooding through you like a dam has burst inside. He’s still kissing you when he grabs the neck of your blouse and jerks it open, sending buttons pinging across the floor, and then he looks down at you, his stare dark and dangerous as his eyes take in your lavender bra, the swell of your breasts heaving with your agitated breathing.

“You can’t do what anymore, Dean? What the hell are you…”

“I can’t pretend I’m okay with it when those assholes stand there imagining you naked while you give them a little peek just to get some information. I can’t watch while you hook up with some dickless wonder when we go out for a few drinks. I can’t act like it doesn’t piss me off when some fucking jerk has his hands all over you.”

“Oh, but it’s okay when you’re all Agent Casanova, ‘I just need someone to fuck because I might not live another day!’ And look who’s talking about hooking up at the bar, all the brainless bimbos that are always hanging all over you!” You grab his shirt with both hands and give it a yank, sending his buttons flying and his tie all sideways. “And you ruined my suit!”

He’s breathing hard, his jaw working, his nostrils flaring as he stares back at you. “Oh, sweetheart, I’m just getting started.” He moves fast, whipping his pocket knife out and opening it in one smooth motion, startling a soft curse from you.

“And just exactly what do you think you’re gonna do with that?” you demand, trying to sidestep, but he traps you against the door again.

“I’ll show you ruined,” he growls, and then pins you beneath his angry glare, his eyes narrowing a little in warning. “Don’t move.”

He tucks two fingers in the waist of your skirt, tugging it out just a fraction of an inch, then cutting into it carefully with the knife until he has the space to slip the blade, sharp side out, behind the fabric. The metal is cold against your skin, but it isn’t there long. With one flick of his wrist, your skirt splits right down the front, and he drops it at your feet, folding the knife again and stuffing it back into his pocket. You’re left standing there in your lingerie, and his eyes are taking in every inch of you like a man starved. You’re shaking a little now, but damned if you’ll let him know that.

His hand reaches for you, fingers gliding down the side of your neck, pushing what’s left of your blouse off your shoulder, first one side, then the other. The silky fabric falls around your feet, and you raise your chin, defiant. “Feel better now?” you snap, and his smile actually makes you shiver.

“Not yet.” He drags a calloused finger along the strap of your bra, following the lacy edge across the swell of your breasts. “So pretty, I’d hate to ruin this, too…”

“Fuck you, Winchester!” His response to that is to press his body against you, and you breathe in sharply as he grinds his erection against your hip.

“That’s the plan, sweetheart,” he growls, and then his lips are ravenous as they take yours, his hand squeezing your breast, and you both groan.

He has you half crazed, between the arousal and the anger you still feel, and you nip at his lip, hard, making him almost yelp. He draws back, his tongue darting out over the injury, and then he pulls the back of his hand over his mouth, wiping a bit of blood away. “You wanna play rough?”

“Who says I want to play at all?” you fire back, but he laughs harshly.

He shoves a hand between your thighs, rubbing hard against your clit, and you gasp, rearing your head back and banging it on the door. “Who do you think you’re foolin’, sweetheart?”

“Your ego is unbelievable!” you spit back at him, and a smile curves his lips, sending a chill up your spine.

“Oh, honey, you’ll be begging for it before I’m done.”

“In your dreams!”

“Oh, I’ve had this dream.” He bends to kiss you again, then stops short, his lips a breath away. “You bite me again and you’ll regret it.” Then he kisses you, really kisses you, his mouth slanted over yours, passionate and hungry, and hurting him is suddenly the last thing on your mind.

You’re rubbing yourself on the hand he has between your legs, and he’s returning the pressure, gentle and steady. Your head is spinning, and you pull away from your kiss, your back and neck arching as you pant, small mewling noises escaping your lips as Dean kisses his way down, sucking a mark into your skin where your neck and shoulder meet.

He takes your hand, stepping back and staring down at you, looking like he’d love to devour you. “Come here,” he almost whispers, leading you to the bed, your legs barely able to function. He sits you down, then quickly strips off his tie, tossing it, and drops his shirt to the floor. He drops to his knees in front of you, slipping his hands up the outside of your thighs and hips until he can get hold of the top edge of your panties. He tugs, gazing into your eyes, and you lift up slightly, letting him pull them down until he lifts each foot and removes them completely, dropping them beside him. “Still think I can’t make you beg?” he asks softly, and before you can gather sufficient brain function to think of a comeback, he pulls you to the edge of the mattress, ducks down and swipes his tongue through your wet folds, moaning, sending goosebumps over you in waves.

He lets out a groan that makes you shudder, your fingers clenching into the bedspread as you fight for control. His tongue is leaving trails of fire through your pussy, teasing you, touching every damn place but where you really want him to be. He latches on to the sensitive skin of your inner thigh where it joins your apex, and you whimper as he sucks another mark there.

He looks up at you, his eyes full of dark promise. “You’re shaking, baby. All you have to do is ask.” He  puts one huge hand right at the crease of your thigh, his thumb brushing over your mound, and your hips buck up off the bed slightly, rebelling against your feeble attempt to stay still. He pushes against your soft flesh, pulling back gently, exposing your throbbing clit, and you inhale slowly, feeling as if you’ll explode with the tension. He moves, bending closer until his lips are almost touching you, his breath washing hot over your skin. He watches you as his tongue creeps out, the tip barely brushing the oversensitive nub, and you jerk, crying out.

“Please, Dean…” Your voice is so wrecked that you almost don’t recognize it, and a soft smile curves his lips.

“That’s all I wanted to hear.”

Then everything is hot and wet, quivering and quaking, his fingers digging into your hips to hold you as you collapse back onto the bed, clutching wildly at the bedding, at his hair, at nothing and anything you can grab hold of to anchor yourself. You come so hard that it makes you dizzy, black spots in your peripheral vision, your entire body going limp as you tremble, whimpering as his tongue and lips gently ease you down.

He looks up at you as your eyes flutter open, your pulse still pounding. He brings the back of his hand up to wipe across his face, then lets his hands drop to his knees, not moving from the floor where he still kneels before you. You see him swallow, his eyes sliding off to the side, his teeth worrying at his lip. You can see it in his face – he’s second-guessing, thinking too much. But you don’t want this to stop.

“Hey, Winchester. Is that all you got?” Your voice is raspy, a little breathless, and his gaze jerks back to meet yours, his eyes narrowing a little. You pull yourself back farther onto the bed, then raise to your knees, reaching behind you to unclasp your bra. You toss it over his head, and as it lands behind him, he pounces.

You can’t help the little giggle that escapes as he tumbles you down onto the bed, then kisses you. He’s got you pulled halfway on top of him, and you revel in the feel of his heated skin against yours, your breasts crushed to his chest. He runs his fingers through the curtain of your hair, tilting his head back and looking into your eyes, searching. “You sure?”

“Dean Winchester, if you don’t get naked right now, we’re gonna have a problem.” You’re trying to look stern, failing miserably. The corner of his mouth quirks up a little, and he takes you by the shoulders, moving you from him to reach for his zipper. You trail your fingertips across the breadth of his chest, then move down, snagging the top of his boxer briefs and tugging them down along with his pants. He springs free, and you pet him softly, making him moan before you finish undressing him.

When you crawl back towards him, you can’t resist taking a taste. His hips thrust up a little as you lick over him, bottom to top, then sweep across the head, groaning as his flavor bursts on your tongue.

You don’t get the chance to continue. Dean sits up and grabs you, lifting you to straddle him as he attacks your mouth again, his arms holding you captive. He kisses you breathless, then leans his forehead against yours, panting as he rocks his hips, rubbing his cock against you, sliding through the slick heat between your thighs. “There’s plenty of time for that. I need to be inside you right now.”

“Yes,” you whisper, raising up slightly as he lifts his erection, the swollen head catching at your entrance, your foreheads still pressed together and your eyes locked on his as you take him in, inch by magnificent inch. His teeth are clenched, his muscles corded with tension as he waits for you to stop quivering and whimpering softly at the overwhelming intensity of being filled with him.

It’s the hush before the storm, tension strung taut between you, your breath mingling, nerves buzzing. When you shift yourself slightly, the silence is shattered, broken gasps and moans filling the room as you rock against and around and into each other. Every thrust of your hips together grinds your aching clit against his pelvis, and you clutch at his shoulders as you come again. He crushes his lips to yours, then moves them to your throat, your neck, your shoulder. “You’re so damn beautiful,” he murmurs against your skin, “so fucking gorgeous when you come…”

Somehow he manages to move you to your back without pulling out, maybe because you’re clinging so tight to him. He puts your head on a pillow, then kisses you senseless as he nestles as close as possible between your thighs, one hand cupping your breast, kneading gently.

“You feel so good, baby. I wanna stay here forever,” he whispers against your lips, and he runs his other hand down your side, caressing the soft skin on his way to your knee. He slips his hand beneath, lifting your leg as he presses even closer, deeper, and you let out a soft whine. He turns his attention to your nipple, barely rocking into you as he sucks and nibbles, moaning against your flesh as you make soft, desperate noises beneath him. When he finally stops, raising his head to look at you, your eyes are glazed, your breath shaky and uneven, and he smiles. “I’m gonna ruin you for those fucking losers out there. They’re not good enough for you, anyway.” His smile fades, his eyes glowing with fiery need. “You’re gonna be mine, Y/N. All mine.”

And with that said, he pulls back, the friction of his cock moving within you is the nexus of your world. He slides in to the hilt, then back again, pistoning slowly and smoothly. You are going to lose your ever-loving mind if he doesn’t pick up the pace, and you buck up to meet him. “Dean, I need you… to fucking… fuck me…” you manage to pant out, and his upper lip twitches slightly before he kisses you, hard.

“Oh, you got it, sweetheart,” he growls, drawing back and then driving into you to the limit as you cry out. His control slips away, the hunger in him taking over, and your bodies collide with each deep stroke, his arms braced on the mattress, his fingers clutched in the bedding. His hips are a blur as he pounds into you, your hands are tearing at the pillow beneath your head, and he lets out a wordless shout. Your name becomes an invocation on his lips as he swells and throbs within you, flooding you, and you come undone again with a hoarse cry of his name.

Time ceases to exist for a while. When you are able to move again, you put your arms around him, your fingers dragging through his short, sweat-damp hair, one hand resting at the nape of his neck. You feel his lips on your neck, and he moves from you with a reluctant groan, the sensation of him slipping out of you making you shudder. “C’mere,” he rasps out, pulling you close. You feel his breath in your hair, his hand moving to take yours where it lies on his chest. “Still mad at me?” he asks quietly, and you smile.

“Totally. You wrecked my favorite fed suit.”

You feel more than hear his soft chuckle. “Worth it.” His fingers trail up and down your shoulder as he drops a kiss into your hair. “So… are we okay?”

You pull back a little so you can look into his eyes. “I don’t know, Dean. Are we?” He looks back at you, waiting. “I mean, can I do my job? Are you gonna get pissed off at me every time I have to flirt a little to get information out of someone? Can we even work together?”

“Depends.”

“On what?”

“On whether I know you’re gonna be with me at the end of the day.” He looks away for a moment, then back to you, his soul shining in his green eyes. “If you don’t want that, then… I guess we can’t work together anymore.”

You lean in to kiss him softly. He lets go of your hand and moves to cradle your face as he kisses you back, then moves back a little as he trails his fingers over your skin, brushing across your nipple and lifting the weight of your breast in his hand, and the sensation leaves your voice a little breathless. “You owe me a new suit.”

“Done.” He watches your face as he rubs his palm over your hardening nipple, then gives a gentle squeeze. “So… mine?”

Your eyes close as he brushes over you again, and you nod. “Yours.” You move your hand over his chest, laying it warm over the steady beat of his heart. “Mine?”

He leans in again, his lips grazing yours as he speaks. “All yours.”


End file.
